


As Time Goes By

by tcs1121



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Poisoning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-02
Updated: 2008-08-02
Packaged: 2020-08-19 13:15:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20210350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tcs1121/pseuds/tcs1121
Summary: Summary: "I mean, it’s a good story Sammy, but that part about you leaving and going off to school? That would never happen."





	As Time Goes By

**Author's Note:**

> Title: As Time Goes By  
Author: tcs1121  
Recipient: krazykipper  
Rating: PG 13—language, h/c, casefile  
Written for [SPN 2008 SummerGen fic exchange](http://community.livejournal.com/spn_summergen/40893.html#cutid1)
> 
> Notes: Set during mid Season 3, before _ Jus In Bello_. Special thanks to my little sis and best friend, Vanessa, for her time, patience, and sharing her writing expertise. Thanks as always to my friend and co-conspirator sunrize83 for her generosity of time and sharing her excellent ear for the boys' voices. Prompts and additional notes at the end. 
> 
> Disclaimer: These characters were created by Eric Kripke and do not belong to me. No money exchanges hands. All for fun.

~~~  
Prologue  
~~~ 

The California hillside was stippled with ferns, sage scrub, and rare pines. Waves crashed softly in the distance, and the fractured moonlight sparkled on the surface of the water. 

The state park attracted tourists who liked hiking, walking the beach, or simply enjoying the peace of an ancient forest. It was the first week of June, right before midnight, when a young couple, seeking a restful retreat after the park had closed, was torn to bloody ribbons, and their body parts strewn up and down the steep California cliffs. 

A week later, the bodies of four drunken teen-agers smeared the hillside. The authorities were baffled as to what kind of animal could do this, since this had never happened before. Sam turned to Dean and said yes it had…twelve years ago, and twelve years before that. 

~~~  
Part One  
~~~ 

“Do you have any idea what it looks like?” Dean whispered over his shoulder. 

“Not a clue.” 

The brothers picked their way up the steep moonlit trail avoiding ruts and barbed vines. Since they didn’t know exactly what they were hunting, each carried a small arsenal of weapons and condiments. Sam was in front, locked and loaded, when something sprung out from the dark and bounded toward them. 

“Sam! Down!” 

Sam ducked and rolled; his shotgun flew out of his hands and skidded under a bush out of reach. From behind him, Dean fired his saltgun, hitting the creature squarely in the back. The beast reared up on its hind legs, and Sam got his first look at it. 

It was dark grey in the moonlight and stood more than eight feet tall. It had furred, muscled haunches, and its long spine-like tail curled and uncurled by its heavy rear paws. The skin on its craggy head was a tight leather sheet with slashes for nostrils in the middle of its face, and a flap of skin for a mouth. Its grey eyes glanced dismissively at Dean, choosing to focus on Sam. 

The beast raised its leathery arms, and a snarl rumbled from its chest as it began circling Sam. Sam got to his feet and watched as long, hooked claws, extended talon-like from the three-fingered hands. 

Dean got into position on the ledge behind the creature and raised his weapon. The full moonlight reflected off the barrel of his gun, now loaded with iron shot. 

The thing crouched low, then lunged, swiping its arm in a wide arc. For a big animal it was fast, and its claws narrowly missed the back of Sam’s head as he hunched down and dashed toward the old pines. 

The beast spun around, snapping its claws back in. Dean took aim and cracked off a shot, hitting it dead-on in the chest. Thick, black ooze ran down. The beast locked its slotted eyes on Dean, raised its massive, misshapen head and glared at him. What should have been a death shot merely pissed it off. 

The monster turned toward Dean and scrambled up the ledge; Sam ran back and scanned the undergrowth for his weapon. He grabbed his shotgun, loaded with silver buckshot, and brought it up to his shoulder as the creature threw out its claws and ripped into Dean’s back. 

Dean’s cry of, “Son-of-a-bitch!” was almost drowned out by the silver shot piercing the creature’s hindquarters. The beast let out a “Son-of-a-bitch!” howl of its own, and bolted off the ledge and into the woods. 

“Dean!” Sam ran up the ledge where his brother was trying to sit up. “Hey, are you okay?” 

“Aww, man. It burns like hell,” Dean gasped. 

“How bad?” Sam helped him sit up. “How bad is it?” 

Dean took a breath and shrugged one shoulder at a time. He winked and said, “Don’t worry little brother, I’ll live. Dammit, I liked this shirt.” 

“Let me see.” Sam lifted the shredded plaid material that used to be Dean’s shirt. There were three shallow gashes from right shoulder to left rib, dripping with an orange-yellow liquid. 

“It burns?” 

“Yeah, like hell, remember? Jesus.” Dean staggered to his feet. “Hey…” Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder. “…that was some good shootin’, Annie Oakley. Got him to cut and run.” 

“Thanks,” Sam said. “I think.” 

“You’re welcome,” Dean held up his gun. “Where did it go?” 

“Away, but it doesn’t matter. I’m out of silver, and that’s what worked.” 

“Naturally. Why do these goddam monsters have such expensive tastes?” Dean asked. “Couldn’t be iron, couldn’t be salt, had to be silver.” 

“You nailed him in the chest with that iron shot, though.” Sam thought to give Dean credit for that as he nudged him down the ledge. “Too bad it just made him mad.” 

They walked down the sloping dirt trail, dodging the outcroppings, until they saw the big, black Chevy parked by an embankment 

Dean winced as he lifted his hand out of his pocket with the keys. Sam took them and nodded to the passenger door. “I’m driving.” 

“Hey, I’m okay.” 

“I know. You’re welcome anyway.” 

~~~  
Part 2  
~~~ 

At first, Dean closed his eyes, rubbed his temples and said, “I’m okay, all right?” Twenty minutes later, when he asked Sam to turn off the lights and accepted a cold cloth for his head, Sam knew the pain was blinding. 

“Turn over, let me see.” Sam helped his brother roll onto his side. Dean’s teeth were chattering, but his skin was preheated to broil. “Christ, Dean. You’re burning up.” 

“Too loud, Sam,” Dean put his finger to his lips. “You got something stronger than Advil?” 

“We don’t know what we’re dealing with here, man.” Sam pulled the tee shirt up to inspect the three streaks etched into his brother’s back. Angry seeping tissue surrounded torn skin, and an odor of licorice or anisette radiated from the wounds. 

Dean trembled; the chills jarred his wounded back, forcing him to moan, “Jesus, Sammy. This sucks.” 

Sam tucked the blankets and the two bedspreads around him. “This isn’t good, man. You’re crashing.” 

“What time is it?” 

“Why do you care what time it is?” 

Dean pressed a shaking hand to his ear, “Sam, please?” 

Sam lowered his voice. “Okay, sorry. Let’s see…it’s one o’clock in the morning. You got clawed up over an hour ago.” He pressed his palm to Dean’s forehead and said, “You’re not doing so good after only an hour and a half, man.” 

Dean shivered under the mound of blankets. “I hardly f…felt it. It wasn’t…it wasn’t that bad.” 

“Well, it’s bad now,” Sam whispered. “There must have been something on the claws that got into your system.” 

Dean’s sheet-colored face was shining with sweat. “Like what? Like germs?” 

“I’m thinking it was something poisonous.” Sam looked at his brother, leapt up and ran into the bathroom. 

“Shit, Sammy.” 

“It’s okay, Dean. I got it.” Sam held the trash pail while Dean emptied his last three meals into it. 

~~~ 

Sam checked his watch and his brother’s pulse and tried again. “Hey Dean, open your eyes.” He raised his voice. “Open your eyes and look at me. Come on, man.” 

Around three o’clock, Dean stopped shaking, stopped puking and his temperature stopped climbing, hovering right below 103. Sam should have felt relieved because his brother had been so miserable, but Dean also stopped talking, closed his eyes and just…stopped. 

Time slowed to a crawl while Dean was on shut down. Sam rested one hand on his brother’s chest and held his cell phone in the other, poised to dial 911 if Dean got worse. Sam took off his wristwatch and put it on the bed beside his brother. He watched the second hand slowly move around the dial, while his finger itched to press the “talk” button that would summon an ambulance. 

He decided he would wait one hour for his brother to improve, and then let his finger press down if he didn’t. Screw the goddam FBI. 

Sam stayed like that until fifty-seven minutes later when, never opening an eye, Dean breathed a deep sigh, curled over on his right side, flung the blankets off his legs, and cooled down to 98.6 degrees. 

~~~  
Part 3  
~~ 

Dean yawned, stretched, and winced slightly. Sam was leaning against the wall watching his brother wake up. 

“Feeling better?” 

“Yeah…yeah, I think so.” Dean rubbed his face. “You don’t look so hot.” 

He probably didn’t. It was bad when Dean was hurling and moaning, but it was worse when he stopped, so Sam was bloodshot, stubbled and in terrible need of coffee. “You had a rough time last night. Any lingering after effects?” 

“No, I think I’m good now. A little sore, though. Must’ve been some pretty potent stuff.” Dean swallowed and grimaced. “Jesus, what died in my mouth?” 

Sam poured a glass of water and handed it to him. Dean looked up from the pillows. “Really, dude, you look like crap. Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m okay. Let me look at your back.” Sam flipped the blanket down. 

“What’re doing? Get off me, man.” 

“Don’t be such a baby.” Sam pulled up the stained shirt. The licorice smell was gone, and the claw marks that had looked so angry were only bad scratches already scabbing over. “I think you dodged a bullet on this one, bro’.” He put his hand up to Dean’s cool forehead. 

Dean slapped Sam’s hand away. “Since when did you get so dramatic? This happens all the time—mostly to me. It goes with the job.” Dean lowered his head and looked contrite. “I should be a little more careful about it sometimes, though.” 

“Yes,” Sam agreed. “You should.” 

“Well, lesson learned.” Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. “At least for now. You showered yet?” 

Sam shook his head and Dean’s eyes brightened. “Then all the hot water is waiting for me. Yes!” He stood, sniffed his armpits, made a face and said, “Jesus, what died under my arms?” 

“Do you think you’re going to feel well enough to go back out tonight and, you know, finish the job?” Sam hesitated to ask, but this creature was making confetti out of park visitors, so the sooner they got rid of it the better. 

“Hey man, you know I’m always up for a repeat performance.” Dean staggered to the bathroom. “You know something, Sam?” 

“What?” 

“Maybe it’s…Sometimes, when shit like this happens, maybe it’s just as well that we don’t hear from him, you know?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

Dean softened his voice. “I know that dad loves an encore performance as much as I do, but it’s still embarrassing when it involves his oldest son getting stupid drunk.” 

The shower door closing coincided with enthusiastic singing. 

Sam stared at the bathroom door in stunned silence. 

~~~  
Part 4  
~~~ 

“Bobby, we need to find out everything we can on these creatures. What else you got?” Sam spoke into his phone and glanced toward the bathroom, where steam and off-key singing were billowing out. 

“Not much, kid. I told you, the lore on this one is screwy. Sometimes it’s a bitch weeding out the myths from the real monsters.” 

“Believe me, Bobby, this one’s no myth.” 

“I hear you, and I’m on it.” Bobby’s gruff voice softened. “Watch out for your brother, Sam. Let me know if he gets any worse, okay?” 

“Yeah, sure I will.” Sam closed and pocketed his phone. 

“Who’re talking to?” Dean vigorously towel dried his hair. 

“Bobby…Um…Singer. Bobby Singer.” 

“Bobby Singer? No kidding!” Dean smiled broadly. “Don’t let dad catch you talking to him. They had a big blow out a while back. How did you get his number?” 

“We’ve been in touch on and off.” 

Dean zipped his jeans and pulled on a faded denim shirt. “God, Bobby Singer, huh? Bobby’s a good guy. I remember when we first met him.” 

Sam painted a neutral look on his face. “Yeah? What do you remember?” 

“What do you mean? You were there.” Dean said. “Well…maybe you were too young to know what was going on.” 

“So tell me.” 

“Okay.” Dean flopped into the off-green chair by Sam’s bed. 

Though there were laugh lines and crow’s feet around Dean’s eyes, and one or two prematurely gray hairs at his temple, suddenly Sam saw his bright-eyed brother from two years ago. 

Two years ago, he and Dean hunted Wendigo’s, shapeshifters and shtrigas; routinely putting spirits to rest by digging holes and pouring gasoline over salt covered bones before lighting them up. This was before Dean made the deal. Before there was a deadline ending with Hellhounds. Sam had to think about breathing as his chest began aching. ‘This illness is a reprieve for him,’ he thought sadly. 

“Once upon a time,” Dean’s voice shook Sam from his thoughts. “When I was nine or ten –and that would make you five or six—dad went looking for a badass Skinwalker in northern Nebraska. Dad finally got a bead on it, but figured the whole thing might go bloody, so he made a few calls to find a place to safe house us for a few days. Dad called Joshua first, since he lives in that part of the country, but Joshua was on a hunt of his own, so he told dad to call this guy, Bobby Singer, in South Dakota.” 

Sam leaned forward, “I don’t remember any of this.” 

“Yeah, that’s because you were always bitching and crying and carrying on. You were such a wuss when dad left us sometimes.” Dean shot Sam a lop-sided grin. “Well, you _were_ just a little kid. Anyhow, dad drives us up to Bobby’s salvage yard, and I’m thinking that this is the coolest place I’ve ever seen. There are classic old beauties and cheap imported tin can cars stacked up all over. It was awesome.” 

Dean’s eyes glittered at the memory and Sam couldn’t help smiling. 

“We all walk into the office, and Bobby’s standing behind a desk holding a clipboard. He’s this big hulk of a guy, but not bigger than dad. There’s an old yellow dog drooling on the floor, and a thermos sitting on the desk. Bobby smiles, holds out his hand and says, ‘Are you John Winchester? John Fucking Winchester?’” 

“What? Bobby said that?” Sam choked a laugh. “I would’ve liked to have seen that.” 

Dean nodded, smiling. “Dad says, ‘Yeah, I’m John Winchester. These are my boys, Dean and Sammy. Thanks for taking them in.’ Bobby says, sure, no problem, any friend of Joshua’s blah, blah, blah, and he opens the thermos and offers us all some water. You and me take a drink, but Dad pushes the cup away and says ‘no thanks.’ Bobby puts down the clipboard, picks up his saltgun from behind the desk, racks it in front of dad and says, ‘I’m sorry, I must insist.’” 

That image caught Sam off guard. He rocked back and laughed out loud. 

Dean laughed with him, then grabbed Sam’s sleeve and pulled him closer. “So dad says, ‘Sure, what the hell.’ After he drinks the holy water from the thermos, dad pulls out his gun, and points his Smith & Wesson in Bobby’s face!” 

“No way!” Sam doubled over. 

“Yes, way! Wait. Wait.” Dean held his hand up. “Dad hands the water back to Bobby and says, ‘I’m sorry, now I must insist.’ It was hilarious— Bobby’s face as he looked down the barrel of dad’s gun, drinking holy water from his own thermos.” 

“Oh shit! Oh shit!” Sam threw his head back, laughing. 

Dean mimicked his father’s gravelly voice, “‘I’m sorry, now I must insist.’” Then he joined in with Sam who was laughing at the ceiling. 

Dean caught his breath and said, “God, it was like it was yesterday. It’s been years since I’ve heard from Bobby. How is the old bastard anyway?” 

The laughter dried up in Sam’s throat. The ‘old bastard’ had spoken to Dean on the phone about the creature they were hunting, yesterday afternoon. 

~~~  
Part 5  
~~~ 

It was mid afternoon, but the sun was having difficulty breaking through the overcast sky, and it never had a chance making it through the faded polyester curtains. Sam came back with take-out and threw the bags with their late lunch on the nightstand. Dean lay sprawled on top of the blue striped bedspread, dozing restlessly. 

“Wake up, man.” Sam poked his brother’s arm. “We’ve got to talk.” 

“Go away. Sleeping.” 

“Dean, get up.” It came out louder than he intended. 

“What?” Dean opened one eye. “For god’s sake, Sammy, you can be such a pain in my ass.” 

“It’s important,” Sam said. “You know me, man. Would I lie to you?” 

“What kind of question is that?” Dean blinked both eyes open. “Sure you would. You’re a big, fat, lying bitch.” 

“Stop it. For one minute, could you please stop it?” 

“What do you mean, stop it?” Dean was confused. “Stop what?” 

Sam took a breath. “I mean, I have something to tell you and you have to listen. You have to believe me.” 

“No I don’t, but okay.” 

“You’re losing time.” Sam didn’t know how else to say it. 

“Aren’t we all, little brother?” 

“Shut up. Shut the hell up.” Sam fisted his hands then let them fall open at his side. 

Dean sat straight. “Shit, Sammy, what?” 

“You don’t remember, but you were attacked last night.” 

“I do so remember. A dude named José Cuervo got me good.” Dean scratched his cheek. “Or was it Jack Daniels? They all start looking alike after a while.” 

“No, Dean, we were on a hunt last night and it went south. The creature we were hunting clawed you and it made you sick”. 

Dean raised his eyebrows. “Dude, are you feeling alright?” 

Sam leaned forward. “Look at your back. You were clawed and you haven’t…been right since.” 

“That’s nuts. We went to the bar for tequila shooters.” Dean said, “Looks like I won’t be taking you out drinking until you’re older. I figured you wouldn’t be able to keep up with your big brother.” 

“It’s making you forget.” 

“Yeah, that’s the beauty of tequila.” 

“Dean, listen to me.” Sam spoke slowly, “It made you forget…” 

“Sammy, that’s the point,” he interrupted patiently. “Alcohol is wonderful, and it makes us wonderful. And if we’re lucky, it helps us forget all the bad shit for a while so we can enjoy being wonderful. My brother, _forgetting_ is one of the reasons we drink it.” 

Sam stared Dean into silence. “It made you forget that you got so sick that you pretty much puked your intestines out last night. It made you forget that we’ve been hooking up with Bobby for hunts for two years now.” 

“Get outta here.” 

“It made you forget that dad is dead.” 

“Not funny, Sam.” 

“No, it’s not. Dean, you were attacked, and now you’re sick.” Sam stood and paced. “You are forgetting your life. You have forgotten that dad died over two years ago. You’ve forgotten so much already, that I don’t know what’s going to happen when you’ve gone so far back you’ll have forgotten yourself.” 

Dean’s voice was low and dangerous. “I usually like having you around, you little prick, but not when you’re spouting bullshit like that. This isn’t funny. You think it is, and it’s only because I know you’re a goddam freak that I’m not kicking your ass all over this mother fucking room.” 

Sam did not think he was kidding. Dean was ill, his eyes were shining and his skin was flushed. None of what Sam said was sinking in, so he tried something else. 

“I went to college.” 

Dean sighed. “Right, you went to college.” 

“Yeah, I did. I went to Stanford. For four years.” 

“No you didn’t, Sammy.” Dean said, “You wanted to go to college. I remember you talked about it, but I don’t know why you’d want to. I mean the three of us—you, me, and dad. We’re good at this Sammy. We’re the best at this.” 

“I did go, Dean.” 

“No you didn’t, since it seems to me that I’m looking at you right now. Besides you know we can’t afford it.” 

Dean’s memory was fading as they spoke. Sam cast his line to see if he could reel Dean into the here and now, to buy more time until they figured something out. “I left for Stanford, with a full scholarship, when I was eighteen.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

“I wanted normal, Dean. I wanted a life that didn’t include demons and spirits.” Sam kept his voice steady. “I studied law, and was going to be a lawyer. I wanted a normal life, a normal girlfriend, and a normal job. Maybe even a normal family someday.” 

“Well, that sure leaves me and dad out of the picture,” Dean quipped. 

“I made the decision to go to college, and dad said that if I left, don’t come back.” Sam’s voice cracked. “How can you not remember?” 

“He’d never say that. He wouldn’t say that. You’re crazy.” Dean sounded worried. “You’re a jerk.” 

“No, Dean. I’m not crazy and I’m not a jerk. After I left, we…it was hard for you and me, you know? I mean, you…you practically raised me. You wanted me to come back. I wanted to stay, so you retaliated.” 

“Like how?” 

“Well, at first it was pretty tame. Boxes of Lucky Charms piled up at the front door, the clown doll you Fed Ex’ed the night before a major exam, hotwiring all the parked cars so the horns would go off when they started in the morning, oh, and the dog shit on the steps.” 

“Yeah? Dog shit? How cool is that?” Dean smiled. 

“But when you gummed up the door locks and Jessica was stranded all night while I was in the library, it had to stop. Like, for good.” 

“Who’s Jessica?” 

“Jessica Moore was my girlfriend. She died…in a fire.” He tamped back the emotion that came with that memory. 

“Sammy, I’m so…” 

“…so I asked you not to come around. Not to call. Not to write.” Sam took a deep ragged breath. “I told you to go away and don’t come back.” 

Dean blinked at the far wall, and Sam put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Dean, my last two years at Stanford—we weren’t speaking to each other.” 

“Naaah. You wouldn’t…I wouldn’t…,” Dean stuttered. “That’s plain bullshit.” 

“You didn’t stay away, though. You came around to check up on me. To make sure I was safe. Maybe to take notes.” 

“I don’t take notes, Sam. And if I did come around, you’d never know it. I’m stealthier than that,” he said. “Fuck this shit, Sammy.” 

Sam spoke softly. “You’d drive down my street before dawn. No matter how slowly you drove, your illegal muffler would wake the neighborhood. You’d park in an alley, hiding the Impala away from the streetlights, and wait until I left for class.” 

“I did?” 

“Yeah, and a month or so later, I’d be looking out the library window and see you a couple of blocks away, standing in the shadows, holding a coffee cup.” 

“See,” Dean said. “Stealthy.” 

“Do you remember any of this?” 

Dean shook his head. 

Sam continued, “For two years we never spoke, never even looked at each other, but for two years you kept coming back. I felt guilty and ungrateful.” 

“I never did that.” Dean squirmed. 

Sam caught his breath and held it for a moment. He was losing this war; Dean wasn’t remembering, so he said, “It also made me feel cared for and protected. And, man, I missed you.” 

Sam felt his brother’s eyes staring at him. Then Dean countered childishly, “Yeah, Sammy. Like I don’t know that that’s a little brother’s biggest dream, to have their older, badass brother, checking up on him, ready to swoop down like Batman and save him from bad things. Give it a rest, will you? I love ya, man, but it’s not like that.” 

“Yes, it is.” 

“Right, and in Sammy’s World, Sammy’s dick is bigger than Dean’s, too.” A bead of sweat rolled down Dean’s cheek. He smiled at Sam and chucked him on the arm. “I don’t know what you’re worried about. I mean, it’s a good story, kiddo, but that part about you leaving and going off to school?” 

“Yeah?” 

“That would never happen.” 

~~~  
Part 6  
~~~ 

“Bobby you’ve got to find something to help us. It’s bad. Dean’s forgetting years every hour.” Sam tried to steady his voice as he spoke. “The only good part is that he doesn’t know anything’s wrong.” 

“Sam there are creatures living in the shadows that have been around for hundreds, maybe thousands of years. What’s happening to Dean explains why there’s so little known about them. If you can’t remember the damn monster, you can’t hunt it, and you sure as hell can’t tell anybody else how to hunt it.” 

“How does that help us, Bobby?” Sam asked. “I’m losing him.” 

“I know, kid. I know that there are creatures like Gryphons, whose feathers, talons, and claws are supposed to have medicinal qualities. All I can tell you is to go back and find this thing. Take Dean and go back. Gather the blood, toenails, spit, piss or I don’t care what else, and dose your brother with them, ‘cause ain’t no regular medicine is going to cure him. That’s all I got, I’m sorry. I promise I’ll keep looking.” 

“Thanks, man, I...Thanks a lot.” 

“You know it.” 

“Bobby,” Sam pinched his nose and took a breath. “What happens when Dean doesn’t remember himself? Doesn’t remember who he is?” 

There was a long pause before Bobby’s said, “I don’t know. Maybe his time runs out. I’m sorry, Sam, I just don’t know.” 

~~~ 

“Dean, we’ve got to go.” 

“Go where? I’m not feeling so hot.” 

“I know, but we have to go on this hunt.” 

“Let dad do it.” Dean’s pale skin contrasted with the dark circles under his eyes. His temperature was up again, and sweat beaded on his forehead. 

Sam shook Dean’s shoulders. “You have to get up, man.” 

“Aww leave me the hell alone, you brat.” Dean looked up at him appraisingly. “Hey Sammy, I can guess what you’re going to look like when you’re all grown up. You’re gonna be the tallest bitch in school.” 

“Dean, man, please get up. We…” Sam swallowed and started again. “Dad called. He wants us to meet him ASAP. There’s a hunt going down and he needs us.” 

“Dad called us to come help him?” 

“It’s…its bad, Dean. He needs us.” Then, more forcefully, “Dad needs our help, and we have to go now!” 

“Okay, Sammy, sure. Just calm down.” Dean sat up, caught his breath sharply and touched his back. 

“There are scratches on your back. How do they feel?” 

“Scratches?” Dean gasped. “Is that what’s on fire back there?” 

“Yeah, that’s what it is.” Dean stood and Sam held his arm to steady him. 

“That’s not all that’s burning, Champ.” Dean smiled, but pressed his hand to his head. 

“I know, man. You feel lousy. I’m sorry, but we’ve got to go to work. I’ll start the car.” Sam grabbed the keys off the nightstand. 

“Sammy, I don’t think it’s safe for you to drive.” 

“What? Oh…It’s okay. Dad’s taken me out for test drives. Besides I know where he is.” 

“How come you know where dad is and I don’t?” 

“Because I didn’t go ten rounds with José Cuervo last night,” Sam lied. 

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah, that’d do it.” 

“Get it together, man, please,” Sam pleaded. “Let’s take this thing down and reverse what it’s done.” 

“Okay, Sammy, okay.” Dean shook his head to clear it. “I don’t know what’s going on in that busy head of yours, but I promise, Dad and I will find it and kill it and the bad things that are happening will stop.” Dean reached up and mussed Sam’s hair. “All right, kiddo?” 

Sam looked into his brother’s sincere, fever-bright eyes and clenched his jaw. 

“Come on, Dean. Let’s go.” 

~~~  
Part 7  
~~~ 

Sam drove in before midnight, avoiding the park police. Dean hadn’t spoken during the drive, but every dip in the road and sharp turn caused him to catch his breath. 

Sam helped him out of the car, propped him up against the door and said, “This is where we met up with it last night. We’ve got to find it and fix this. I need your help, man.” Sam opened the trunk and shoved a shotgun into Dean’s hand. After taking a shotgun and a flashlight for himself, Sam tucked a large hunting knife into his belt. 

“Right. Whatever.” Dean shuffled behind Sam. The dirt path wound around the pines and zigzagged up the hill. The moon was full, but there were leftover clouds in the sky. Sam’s flashlight lit the path in front of them. 

They took a steep south turn. Sam heard a muffled “Oh, shit.” at the same time Dean pitched forward and slammed into Sam’s back. Dean’s foot was tangled in some low-lying chaparral and he was losing the fight to keep his balance. Sam spun around, caught Dean by the collar and pressed him up against a tree. Dean’s gun fell to the ground, but was solidly on two feet again. 

“Hey, thanks. You got quick reflexes, kid.” Dean took a couple of shaky breaths, cocked his head and squinted at Sam. He offered his right hand and said, “Dean. Dean Winchester.” 

It hit Sam hard, and he needed a moment to respond. 

“Dean, I’m Sam. We’re hunters. I don’t have time to explain. You have to help me chase an animal out of hiding. We need to find it. Now.” 

Dean cracked a crooked smile. “I am Sam. Sam I am.” 

“Dean, focus! We have to…” Dean’s glazed eyes and vacant expression told him that time had run out. Sam felt like cement had been poured and was hardening in his gut. “We’re going back. I’m taking you to the hospital.” 

“Whatever you say, Sam I Am.” 

The light in Dean’s eyes was growing dim. Hour by hour the years of his brother’s life were plucked away, and now only minutes of Dean Winchester remained. 

Sam swiped at his eyes. “Let’s go.” He turned Dean around. “Back this way.” 

“What’s wrong, boy? Are you hurt?” There was genuine concern for this young stranger in Dean’s voice. 

“We’ve got to hurry.” 

Dean took a step and groaned. His knees buckled and his body spasmed as he bent over and threw up into the bushes. 

“Aww, Dean.” Sam lifted his brother under his arm and helped him to his feet. 

“S...sorry.” 

“That’s okay, man, we’re going for help,” Sam said. “You’ve got to keep walking. You still with me?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” he answered hoarsely. “I think.” 

“Good. Keep your eyes open. Talk to me,” Sam said when Dean’s eyelids fluttered. 

“They’re open. Where’re we going?” 

Something heaved into Sam. Lightening burst in his head as Sam’s face smashed into the gravel. His teeth bit through his lower lip and he tasted blood. Looking through the blur of sudden pain, Sam saw the beast rise to full height. 

Dean fell to his knees. “Holy shit! What is that thing?” 

Sam rolled over in time to see the creature turn and swing at Dean. Even dazed and sick, his brother had the sense to duck and roll, but that must have been all the energy Dean could muster, because after that, he stayed down. 

Sam grabbed his gun went up to one knee and leveled it at the beast. “Get away from him you son of a bitch.” 

The beast turned away from Dean and aimed its grey eyes at Sam. The taut muscles of its haunches told Sam that it was ready to spring. Sam squeezed the trigger as the animal whirled around. Sam’s shot went wide, and the beast leapt up and grabbed Sam by the neck before he got another shot off. The three-fingered hands held tight, and shook its prey. The flap of skin for a mouth drew back and hissed hot breath against Sam’s exposed neck. 

Sam’s vision went brown as he gasped for air; his windpipe slowly being crushed by the force of the leathery hands. The creature threw its head back, released a hand from Sam’s neck, and fanned its claws. With an earsplitting screech, it dropped like lead, and Sam fell backwards. 

The creature flailed on its belly, and looked around seeking its attacker. Dean was on it, stabbing Sam’s hunting knife into its back. Dean pulled back and sliced into the neck, leaning into the blade, twisting as he pushed, until the beast’s head tore away from its shoulders. Black blood shot out in streams. Dean rolled to the side and clutched his arms as hot, thick liquid seeped into his clothing. 

“Son-of-a-bitch.” Dean gasped. 

“Dean!” Sam wheezed, pushing up from the ground. 

“Jesus…” Dean moaned. “Get it away from me.” He moved his arms weakly, trying to push the black oozy carcass away. 

Sam shoved the heavy animal clear, and sat Dean up against him. Dean’s breath came in short hitches and he couldn’t take a deep breath. 

“Easy, Dean. Take it easy.” Sam placed his arm around his brother’s chest. “Breathe, man. Just breathe.” 

“I can’t…oh god…” Dean struggled to fill his lungs. 

“It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.” Sam fumbled for his phone. 

Dean’s skin was dead white. His eyes were open with both pupils blown wide; he turned towards Sam’s voice. “Where…?” 

“Here, Dean. I’m right here. Hang in there with me, okay?” Sam’s phone had no bars. No service. 

Dean’s mouth was open, and his chest shuddered and heaved with the effort of taking air in. He was covered with sticky black and red slime. Sam used his sleeve to wipe his brother’s nose and mouth. Dean’s hand reached up and Sam clasped it with both of his. Dean whispered, “…hurts…please...” 

“I know, Dean, I’m sorry.” Sam choked a sob, “I’ve got you.” He shifted his brother into his lap, Dean’s head resting on Sam’s shoulder. 

Dean’s back arched painfully. “Oh, god…” 

“Shh…Easy, Dean. Take it easy.” Sam put both arms around him until Dean settled, and then gently rocked. “I’m here.” 

The night air was still and the clouds half hid the moon. Sam’s chest constricted painfully as he brushed pine needles and dead leaves away from Dean’s sweat drenched face. Sam smiled down at him, letting the tears fall. “I’ve got you.” 

Dean whispered, “You got me? You got me?” 

“Yeah, big brother, I do.” Sam pressed his lips to the top of Dean’s head. 

Dean smiled, “Good…you got me…good.” Dean took two more breaths, and then his eyes closed and his head dropped. 

“Dean?” 

Sam swallowed and tried again. “Hey, Dean? Wake up, man.” 

He waited for several of his own heartbeats, then raised his voice. “Come on, man, wake up. It’s time to wake…it’s time to fucking wake up!” 

He shoved Dean off, stood up and pointed his finger at him. “Up! Right now, asshole! Get the fuck up right now goddammit!” 

Sam looked down, held his breath, and waited for Dean to move. After a minute he began whispering in little puffs of air, “Come on, man. Come on, man. Come on.” 

Dean lay pale and still on the ground. Desperation rose in Sam’s throat, bitter, hard and cold, choking him. It was like being underwater, weighted down, unable to breathe. Sam wrapped his arms around his chest, and sank to the ground. 

“No, Dean. No. No! NO!” 

The moon hid behind a cluster of dark clouds, blackening the world below. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” a voice rasped from the left. “Sammy, keep it down. Jesus Christ, man.” Dean put a hand up in defeat. “I hear you; just…stuff a sock in it.” 

Sam wasn’t quite sure when it had stopped, but his heart just up and started beating again. “Hey, hey, Dean. Sorry. You…you scared the crap out of me.” Sam turned away wiped his nose on his sleeve and said, “I missed you, man. How are you feeling?” 

“Like shit. Help me get this shirt off. Damn, that’s nasty.” He looked around weakly. “Did we get it? Did we win?” 

“Yeah.” Sam cleared his throat. “Yeah, we got it.” 

“Are you okay, Sam? It didn’t get you, did it?” 

“Almost. But you took it out first.” 

“Like I always do.” He reached a trembling hand out, and Sam pulled him to stand. “Because I’m Batman.” 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“Oh, shit.” Dean looked like he was going to be sick. 

“What? What’s wrong?” 

“Jesus, Sammy.” Dean looked disgusted. “What died in my mouth?” 

~~~  
Part 8  
~~~ 

Dean had showered while Sam took care of the slimy clothes. Dean’s fever was gone and the scratches on his back were healing over. Sam had his turn under the hot spray and was sitting in the chair facing his brother. 

“Bobby said it, Dean. If you have no memory of it, you can’t hunt it.” 

“So, it’s what? Like a defense mechanism?” Dean twisted off the top and handed Sam a brown bottle. 

“Maybe. I wonder how many more creatures are hiding like that.” 

“The thing’s blood cured me?” Dean tipped his bottle back and emptied it. 

“I’m not sure; you were lying in a whole pile of shit.” 

“Gross.” 

“I know.” 

“And I really didn’t remember anything? I didn’t remember dad was dead? I didn’t remember you?” 

“Only at the end…you didn’t remember me at the end.” Sam looked away. Dean stared at the floor. Sam continued, “But, hey, even though you didn’t know who I was, you saved my ass anyway.” 

“Yeah,” Dean smiled. “I’m totally awesome.” 

Sam tried to smile back. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t know who you were, Sam,” Dean said. “I would’ve felt awful if you couldn’t remember. I can’t believe I didn’t.” 

“It’s not that,” Sam said. 

“What, then?” 

“It’s just when I thought you were, you know…” 

Dean nodded. 

Sam took a breath. “You didn’t know me, man, and if you died, you would have died in the arms of a stranger, and there was nothing I could do about it. That’s almost as bad as dying alone.” 

“No.” Dean shook his head. “No, it’s not like dying alone.” 

“Oh, no?” 

“Sammy, I may have forgotten you, but you always knew me. You were there, holding onto me like a big, fat girl.” Dean tilted his head. “That’s got to count for something.” 

“I guess so.” 

Dean paused. “It did, Sam.” 

Sam locked eyes with his brother’s. “You’re welcome.” Sam cleared his throat, lifted his bottle and said, “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re back.” 

“Yeah, me too, bro’.” 

~~~  
–End—

**Author's Note:**

> Krazykipper’s prompts: 
> 
> \- Bobby, and his first ever meeting of the Winchesters.  
\- Dean checking up on Sam at Stanford. Preferably from Sam's POV?  
\- Dean gets poisoned. 
> 
> a/n--This is a big fandom, so if I’ve inadvertently used other writers’ plot devices, monsters, or poisons, please forgive me. 
> 
> Thank you, Summergenfic for allowing me to participate in this summer fic exchange. It was great fun, and a little scary to have an actual deadline. 
> 
> The setting I chose for this fic is the: [ Torrey Pines State Natural Reserve](https://torreypine.org/)
> 
> Here’s where my Gryphon information came from—scroll to the bottom: [ Gryphon Pages](http://www.gryphonpages.com/research/legend/lore.html)
> 
> Superwiki for Stanford, Bobby, John, weapons, and creature info: [Supernatural Wiki](http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/index.php?title=Main_Page)
> 
> [Ten Rounds With Jose Cuervo](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_Z16jVKrk2s)  



End file.
